


if this isn't a kingdom (i don't know what is)

by theviolonist



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Gen, Platonic Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-28
Updated: 2012-10-28
Packaged: 2017-11-17 04:52:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/547811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theviolonist/pseuds/theviolonist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, the boys in One Direction kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if this isn't a kingdom (i don't know what is)

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Polski available: [Ich Królestwo](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1091375) by [carietta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carietta/pseuds/carietta)



> Inspired by [this](http://lolitakittenstyles.tumblr.com/post/33806133360/earrystyles-what-if-all-the-boys-kiss-each).

**1.**

It starts with Harry and Louis (of course it does).

They have a day off, and they're all in Harry and Louis's kitchen. There's probably an empty slot for someone to say something about their codependency, about the bacon burning in the pan, but no one does, and they're happy. It's not the delirious happiness of performing, the adrenaline rushing through their veins; it's the quiet morning happiness that they're learning slowly, as they grow.

Zayn is his usual narcoleptic self, curled up in a chair and probably a little more than half-asleep. "At least he's not snoring," Niall said philosophically earlier. Zayn's snoring is exceptionally unbearable. Niall is draped over Liam's back and still manages to ingest more food than should be humanly possible. A regular morning in the One Direction home - and okay, Harry and Louis's apartment isn't technically their home, but it might as well be, given the amount of time they all spend there anyway.

"What are you doing with this pan, Hazza?" Louis whines from where he's sitting at the table, his head pillowed on his arms. "I require food."

Louis isn’t as ravenous as Niall, but he _does_ need a decent amount of food and coffee to be his annoying, hyperactive self. Harry is the designated cook: the last time Louis tried to cook he almost burned down the kitchen (and no, sadly, it is not a euphemism); Zayn always gets bored halfway through and ends up ordering Chinese, Liam would try to cook something disgustingly _healthy_ , Niall eats all the food before he's actually cooked it.

"Um," Harry says, and tries to figure out a way to explain that he got distracted by happiness and let the bacon burn. Or maybe he just isn't that good of a cook. "I -"

"Harold," Louis says sternly, and now he's standing just beside Harry, staring at the pan. "How could you _do_ that to me?"

Harry has to bite the inside of his cheek not to laugh: Louis looks genuinely scandalized. "Our friendship is over," Louis declares grandly, making a show of taking his bracelet off and throwing it on the ground. Woken by the noise, Zayn cracks an eye open, then apparently judges their shenanigans uninteresting and closes it right back.

"Lou," Harry laughs, and jumps on Louis, wrapping his arms around Louis's stomach, "sorry, forgive me, forgive me!"

Louis crosses his arms. "Never," he says sternly, ignoring Harry's pleas and flailing attempts at holding him.

It's not like Harry is going to let that defeat him, so he pulls out the big guns: he slides his fingers under Louis's T-shirt and starts tickling him. Louis shrieks. 

"God," Liam groans in his cereals. "Go do that elsewhere, will you?"

"Ya, get a room," Niall agrees. 

Louis pauses in his shrieking to level him an affronted glare. "How _dare_ you, Horan. We're not this sort of people."

Niall snorts.

Harry and Louis fight for a few more minutes before getting tired – it's too early in the morning for physical activity, anyway. Harry folds in on himself, resting his forehead against Louis' chest, his curls sticking to his forehead with sweat. Louis laughs, breathless, a deep rumble in his throat.

And the thing is, they're good here, they really are, the five of them in this kitchen with international stardom waiting on the other side of the door, with the cameras in their cases for a few more hours. They're a little more subdued, a little more human – and they feel _truer_ , too, closer, knit together like the threads of a woolen scarf, multicolored and warm.

"I love you," Harry says quietly. It's a little out of the blue, but Louis takes it as though he expected it – and maybe he did, because it's that kind of friendship, carding his fingers through Harry's curls.

"Yeah, Curly," he says, and Harry can feel his smile even though he can't see it, "me too."

It's kind of perfect – the way Harry stands up and looks Louis in the eye, and the way he leans in to kiss Louis, presses his lips against Louis's and _breathes_ , because that's their kind of friendship too, so close it verges on both perfect and dysfunctional.

"Oh God," Zayn groans from where he's still folded in the chair, rubbing at his eyes, "are we being gay again?"

Harry just tightens his hold on Louis and smiles into his hair. 

They understand.

 

**2.**

"Come on," Harry says, slurring a little. It should probably make him sound stupid, but instead it only makes him sound lazy and sort of cool, which is pure Harry. Understanding how he does that is one of the primary aims in Niall's life. Niall's never been very good at being cool.

"Yeah," Niall shrugs, because he's the carefree one, right? He's already smoked weed, anyway, back home with his mates, and it was nice enough. He doesn't know why this – smoking with Harry cross-legged at the other end of the bed in a hotel room in Amsterdam – feels so different. It's like that with this band; half of what they do scares Niall shitless and the other half is so easy it's like he's done it all his life.

"Where'd you get it?" Niall asks, coughing through the first drag.

Harry smiles toothily at him, eyes vague. "Got friends," he says, and Niall shrugs again, holding back from sighing as the smoke slides down his throat. Harry's got friends everywhere.

"It's good stuff," Niall says, mostly to say something. But is _is_ good stuff – only the best for Harry Styles of One Direction.

It doesn't take long for them to start feeling fuzzy-headed and loose, giggling softly at each other for no particular reason. Niall doesn't know where the other boys are. He's pretty sure he knew it at the beginning of the evening, but then they decided to explore the city or whatever. Niall vaguely wishes they were there with them.

"Next time we'll do it with the lads, yeah?" he asks. It comes out slurred and kind of remote, like it's someone else talking.

"Yeah," Harry says from the other side of the bed, head tipped back against the headboard, and he waves his hands in a way that Niall thinks means he wants Niall to come closer.

Niall wants that too, needs human warmth like he needs oxygen (but that too is something that comes from being part of this), so he crawls towards Harry and nestles against his ribs, tucking his head under Harry's chin. He releases a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He feels Harry smile above him and taking a leisurely drag, his throat working against Niall's skull. It feels good.

"Want some?" Harry asks, and Niall would make a joke but his mind is blank and kind of fuzzy so he just nods. Harry moves a little and Niall's head slides until it's resting in the crook of Harry's elbow. It's too heavy, like it doesn't belong with the rest of his body. Niall lets it tip backwards. His eyes fall shut.

"Hey," Harry rasps somewhere close, and when Niall opens his eyes Harry's leaning above him, his eyes heavy-lidded and lazy.

Niall smiles. "Hey," he says.

Harry giggles and his head drops, pushing against Niall's adam's apple. It hurts a little, but not enough for Niall to complain, and it's worth it for the hot lick of smoke when Harry releases it against his neck, sliding behind his ear and down his shoulderblades.

Niall hums as the warmth sweeps over his skin.

Harry laughs. "It's pretty fucking amazing, right?" he asks kind of aimlessly. Niall isn't entirely sure what he's talking about, but he can't help but nod anyway. Everything in his life is amazing right now, to be honest.

Harry hands him the joint and Niall takes a long drag. He isn't sure if it's instinct or something more conscious that pushes him to wrap his fingers around the nape of Harry's neck and pull him close. Harry’s still giggling when Niall blows the smoke in his mouth, and he misses half of it, fanning over his cheek like a frayed white ribbon.

Niall pulls him closer still and Harry lets him, hums when their lips meet, dry and smooth (Liam has this habit of preemptively putting chapsticks in the pockets of every single pair of jeans they collectively own). It tastes like smoke and friendship, like leaning against each other, shoulders touching, skin hot.

They fall asleep.

That's how the others find them later in the evening when they come back from wherever they were (probably a party that wasn't hipster enough for Harry's tastes). Louis wakes them up by complaining that they haven't kept some for them as Niall tries to wipe the drool from his face as discreetly as he can, and from the corner of his eye he sees Harry smile a small smile at him, secretive and kind of intimate. Niall smiles back. He wonders how he'd explain to his friends back home that sometimes friendship is something so strong that you want to lean across the bed and kiss your mate on the mouth, just to say, "Good morning. Last night was fun." They'd probably find it weird.

But then Louis jumps on the bed and Harry curses him and laughs and Zayn follows suit and Liam pretends to judge them, arms crossed on his chest, until he gives in and jumps too, though he's careful not to hurt them. They all huddle together; Harry promises to find some weed they can all smoke together, and Niall closes his eyes and thinks something blurry along the lines of _yes_ and _love you_.

 

**3.**

If you tried to put all of their insecurities on a map, there would probably be a big black splotch for Liam and Zayn. Louis is vibrant, crazy and incandescent; Harry welcomes the craziness of their new life with a lazy readiness; Niall takes it all in stride, beaming like sunshine.

Liam and Zayn – well. They love it all, they love what they do (who wouldn't?) but the concept of it, when they're lying on their bunks and replaying everything in their heads, terrifies them. Liam's terror is practical, almost like OCD: he makes tea and folds socks until he gets better, reads statistics about how well they're doing. Zayn mostly smokes a lot.

It's not easy every day, that's all. Sometimes Liam forgets to eat for days because they just have _so much_ to do, and who will take care of it all if Liam doesn't?

"Laura will take care of it," Louis says nonchalantly, brushing his fringe out of his eyes, but Liam feels like it's unfair on her, and yes, they pay her but it's simply _not the same thing_. So he works himself to exhaustion and they're all really busy, it's not the boys' fault if they don't notice. Liam doesn't mind.

Except Zayn always has a protein bar for him – he takes it out of his pocket with his long fingers and hands it to Liam with a bottle of water and this soft look in his eyes that says, _I get it_. He doesn't ask Liam to stop.

Except Zayn is always there behind him, letting him be controlling and nervous but keeping him from going crazy, holding Liam back when he really needs to be held back. And Liam – Liam doesn't know how to thank him, so he doesn't, he just hopes Zayn knows how grateful Liam is for him. For all of them.

Today is one of these days. They have five interviews back to back with barely enough time to breathe in between, much less to eat. Niall is munching on crisps throughout the interview, but it's Niall, so it's okay. Louis and Harry actually managed to get chocolate bars and sodas at a distributor and Zayn is nicking some food off Niall, who lets him, for once, but Liam's trying to remember all the questions they can't answer and he's _fucking missing one_ and he's going to have a stroke.

He almost jumps out of his skin when someone touches his shoulder. "Liam."

Liam spins around, clutching at his chest.

Zayn cocks his head. "You okay?" His thumb is tracing soothing circles on Liam's forearm. It makes some of the tension bleed out of him; he hadn't realized how much he needed it.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he says, sagging against the wall. He lets himself slide to the ground. He's so tired, all of a sudden.

Zayn sits next to him. "You should eat," he says, his eyebrows furrowed.

"I'm fine," Liam says as his stomach lets out an obnoxious growl, as if on cue.

They laugh; Zayn shifts so that they're sitting on the ground opposite each other, their knees touching. An executive in a smart suit throws them a strange look as she passes by. Liam smiles tiredly up at her.

"Here," Zayn says, presenting him with a green apple, Liam's favorite. His heart swells so quickly and so big Liam's kind of worried for his other organs. "D'you want chocolate as well?" Zayn asks, burrowing into his bag. "I think I've got some there somewhere."

"No, I -" Liam starts, out of habit, but then he looks at the top of Zayn's head, bent over his bag. This is his best friend. He doesn't need to pretend he's okay. "Yes, actually," he says. "I'm starving."

Zayn looks up at him from his bag, and his smile is so startling, so sincere and unexpected, that Liam actually stops breathing for a moment. He would never have imagined that friendship could be like that, before.

"Thank you," he adds.

Zayn's smile softens, melts on the corner of his mouth and into his cheeks. Liam doesn't think about it when he leans down to kiss him, doesn't think about who might pass by and snap a photo; doesn't think about any other scandal this simple gestured holds. It just feels so natural – like this is fixing something. And it is, in a way. It really is.

It doesn't last long (because after all, someone _might_ walk by and destroy all of their careers), but it doesn't need to. The contact of Zayn's lips was like soft electricity, smooth waves of _I know how you feel_ and _be okay_. Liam feels appeased, almost groggy. He rests his head on Zayn's collarbone.

"You okay, babe?"

"I'm fine," Liam says, but this time he _means_ it, and Zayn probably catches on because he doesn't insist, just rakes slow fingers through Liam's carefully-styled hair. God, Lou is going to _decimate_ them.

Liam's tired, really, really tired, but they have a meeting in ten minutes and he really needs to go over those questions. Zayn's fingers are warm and comfortable in his hair, though, and there's an old ache buzzing against the back his eyelids, urging him on. Maybe if he – yeah, if he just adjusts his head in Zayn's lap, just a little, he can take a micro-nap. Zayn will wake him up. Liam feels safe, protected, like he's in a nest of cotton. He can let go.

When he wakes up ten minutes later, still groggy but feeling marginally better, Zayn smiles warmly down at him, the corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile.

"Hi," he says. He stifles a laugh.

"What?" Liam asks. He's at the point where he's used to the pranks but still can't defend himself against them, so they (meaning, of course, Louis) choose him as a victim about 90% of the time. Liam doesn't mind as much as he should.

"I'm sorry," Zayn says, even though he doesn't sound sorry at all. "I couldn't stop them."

Turns out the boys thought it'd be really funny and mature to draw penises on his cheeks and forehead while he was sleeping.

"You bastard," Liam says when Louis comes get them for the interview.

"Why do you think it was _me_?" Louis yelps. Liam doesn't even answer that one, just noogies him. He deserves it.

(He keeps the blanket he found draped around his shoulders when he woke up folded in his backpack and uses it to sleep on the plane to LA. It's comfortable, soft and fluffy, thick enough that he even sleeps better than he usually does. He doesn't say thank you. They know.)

 

**4.**

Zayn is buzzing. He wishes there were another word, but there really isn't – his body feels like a battlefield, chemicals jumping in his blood as he brushes his sweaty fringe out of his eyes mechanically. He stumbles on a stack of wires as he runs backstage, carried by the thunderous applause. The screams follow him inside, ringing in his ears. His job really _is_ the best job in the world.

A hand shoots out out of the obscurity to steady him. "You alright, mate?" Louis asks. His fingers are surprisingly strong, curled around Zayn's forearm, anchoring him in.

"Yeah, yeah, I just -" Zayn rests his back against the wall. His T-shirt damp with sweat, clinging to his chest and back. It itches uncomfortably.

He waits for the heat to ebb like it always does, but for some reason he can't seem to stop shaking, vibrating with pent-up energy. It's the biggest venue they've ever played. It's Madison fucking Garden. Zayn is pretty sure life can't get better than that, bigger, but life seems intent on consistently proving him wrong these days.

"Fuck," he chokes out, groping blindly for Louis's fingers. "Madison Garden, fuck, fuck."

He looks up to Louis only to find that he's smiling, high red on his cheeks. There's perspiration on his brow and he's only marginally calmer than Zayn, bouncing on the balls of his feet like he always does to contain his excitement. He's just more used to being hyperactive, that's all.

Zayn opens his mouth to say something, but Louis surprises him by kissing him. It's hot and open-mouthed, and feels as crowded as it was outside, as crushing but inherently calming, like there's a pocket-sized version of Zayn sitting in the middle of his chest saying, _this is it_. Zayn squeaks into the kiss, startled for a second. He accepts it soon enough, though, opens his mouth and gives as good as he gets, gripping Louis's nape with curled fingers. His back thumps against the wall when Louis pushes him back, his palms splayed hot and strong on Zayn's ribs.

Their tongues tangle and it's hot and messy and perfect, the exact thing Zayn didn't think he needed but really, really did, pressed against the wall with Louis's arm braced against his back to keep him from sliding down the wall. That's what they're best at, the lot of them: keeping each other sane when they're threatening to go nuts from all the madness. It's so new, still. All of this.

Eventually they're just panting against each other's mouths, filling the silence with quiet heat. They rest their foreheads together, their skin sweaty and almost feverish.

Zayn feels the tension bleed out of him, as though Louis had kissed it right out. He smiles against Louis' lips, but his mouth feels heavy and sore; he wants to go to sleep and nap for thirty hours straight. Madison Garden. Yeah, he definitely needs to recover.

"You feeling better?" Louis asks, still petting the hairs at his nape. A shiver rattles Zayn's body, the sudden chill from the excitement settling down, heavy and consistent in the nooks of his bones.

"Yeah," he says in an exhale. "Much better, actually. How did you…"

Louis shrugs. "I know you," he says. There probably isn't a better answer – the five of them work almost entirely on these kinds of instincts, that fuel them into greatness as they feed each other's ambitions and calm each other's fears.

"Okay," Louis says softly. His breath brushes against Zayn's neck, making goose-pimples rise on his skin, and he wonders if Louis means _it's okay_ or just _my job here is done_. Could be either one.

Louis is easily the most ambiguous of them all, the most powerful and the most guarded, as able to break anyone with a few words as he is to break himself at a moment's notice. They all orbit around him like they would around a great big sun; Zayn doesn't really know if they stay there to feed off his warmth or protect him.

Louis wraps his arms around him, lazy and close. Zayn doesn't pull away. He does, sometimes, when he can't stomach the amount of skin, when he needs a minute to himself; but they've gotten under his skin and lately he tends to prefer a hug sandwiched between Niall and Liam to solitary brooding.

When Louis finally lets him go, threading his fingers into Zayn's hair one last time before taking a step back, Zayn feels like his bones are made of jelly. He'll need a nap and a bottle of water, but he doesn't feel like he's going to burst anymore.

Louis stuffs his fists into his pockets and offers Zayn a crooked smile before walking away. Zayn pulls his cigarette pack out.

"I'm going outside," he says. He doesn't ask Louis if he wants to come. The offer hangs there, open for Louis to take. Zayn is an open book to him – they're each other's novels, all five of them.

"Yeah," Louis says.

There's a moment of silence, only broken by the metallic click of Zayn's lighter as it spouts off its little blue flame. Zayn takes a drag. He hesitates. "Thanks," he says eventually.

Louis' eyes sparkle. He nods, and as Zayn closes the exit door behind him, he hears his footsteps moving away, and he wonders what he might've done in a past life to deserve them. It must have been pretty spectacular.

 

5.

Everything is moving. Everything is moving, Harry is braving the crowd with his head bowed, Zayn is looking murderous, Louis' fists are balled like he's going to lose it and punch someone, and Liam lost a shoe. He lost a fucking shoe. _Again._ How much worse can this get?

Niall. Where the fuck is Niall?

"Niall!" Liam shouts, but it’s drowned in the screaming. "Niall!"

Someone grabs his arm. Liam jumps, seized by a sudden, poignant fear, but the knot in his chest loosens when he realizes it's only Paul. "Where’s Niall?" he asks.

Paul, as reliable as ever, points to somewhere a few feet away from him. "We're getting him," he says, his voice strong and reassuring in the chaos. "Just do what I say, okay?"

They do get to Niall eventually. He's curled up on himself, trying to escape from the hands that keeps shooting out to try and reach him, touch him, get him. God, Liam didn't think being famous could be that scary.

Liam leaps from under Paul's arm as soon as they get close enough to Niall, ignoring Paul's disapproving groan. He envelops Niall in a hug, wraps his arm around Niall's shaky shoulders, and the screams double in fervour.

"It's okay, it's okay, it's okay," he whispers into Niall's hair, but when Niall looks up, his eyes are wide and terrified. "It's okay," Liam repeats, trying not to appear as frantic as he feels.

He raises his head to try and spot the boys. He stumbles on a bit of gravel and the pain shoots up his calf, sudden and sharp. "Shit," he mumbles around a grimace.

He doesn't let go of Niall, though, keeps kissing the top of his head and brushing his hands up and down his arms, trailing as closely as he can behind Paul. "We're almost there," he says when he finally sees the doors of their hotel appear over the crowd. Niall just buries his head deeper into Liam's chest.

When they eventually get there, they’re exhausted and out of breath. They all slump to the floor as the doors close, the screams still seeping through the walls, muted.

"Fuck," Zayn says.

Harry draws Louis close to him. He wraps an arm around his shoulder, hugs him fiercely. "That was mental," he says, dazed.

Zayn shuffles closer to them, and Louis laces their fingers. "Yeah.”

They're all clearly shaken by the experience, but Niall is the worst of them; he won't stop whimpering, curled around Liam's torso like a needy kitten. Liam casts him a concerned look. "It's okay," he repeats like a mantra, his fingers raking through Niall's hair.

The whining eventually subsides, and by the time Niall looks up he's only shaking a little. "You're pale as a sheet," Louis remarks, but Liam can't help but be crushed by relief.

Niall offers a weak smile. Liam's heart is beating so loudly into his chest he's pretty sure it's going to burst. He kisses Niall's cheek, his eyelids, his mouth. "You're okay," he says, as much to himself as the others. Niall's arms tighten around his middle.

"Are they – are they having a hug party without us?" he hears Louis's indignant squeak behind him. It makes him smile. They always make him smile.

"Let's crash the party, then," Harry says, and there's scarcely the time for Zayn's "You would know about crashing parties" before they're all on Liam and Niall, a flailing mess of boyish limbs and haphazard jewelry. Niall laughs, his breath puffing against Liam's lips. It's the most beautiful thing, except for how his lips are chapped and really, Liam hasn't been putting chapsticks into their pockets for nothing. He even chose the bacon-scented one expressly for Niall.

"Haven't you been using your chapstick?" Liam asks, frowning.

They all burst out laughing. Liam pretends to be offended for half a second before joining in.

"I love you," he says in the middle of the mêlée, low enough that he's reasonably sure no one heard him.

"Obviously," Louis says.

They laugh until their lungs hurt and Paul has to pick them off the floor. Liam wouldn't say it's one of the best days of his life, but only because each day is more wondrous than the other since he met them, and he's never been so sure that there are many more to come.

 

**0.**

It's eight in the morning, and they're late. Liam would probably be worried if it hadn't been happening every morning since they were put into a band together.

He puts on pants in the dark and opens the curtains at the last minute, shaking Zayn's shoulder lightly. "Zayn," he says softly. "Wake up."

"What time's it?" Zayn groans, muffled into the pillow. His hair is sticking up in dark tufts, and Liam pats them down, smiling a little.

"Six," Liam says.

Zayn makes a dying whale noise, as he does every time the answer to this question isn't a number after ten. "Sorry," Liam says. "Get up, yeah? I'm gonna go wake the others up."

Zayn opens an eye to peer at him. "You need me?"

"No, babe, I'm fine. Get ready."

"Great," Zayn mumbles. He looks like he's drifting off again, but he's actually really good at doing his hair in record time so Liam is going to trust him. He's supposed to be an adult, after all.

Niall doesn't protest too much when Liam wakes him up, though he complains from the hangover. If Liam was Louis, he would probably arch an eyebrow and say something in the realm of "I told you so" – and Liam did – but he's who he is, so instead he gives him an Aspirin and tells him that there's food downstairs. Always a good incentive.

Harry and Louis are still sleeping like logs when Liam walks in their room, entangled around each other. Liam tried pull them away from each other the first few times, and then realized that it's not possible. It's like they're holding on for dear life, with their laced fingers and tangled legs. Even the hair that fans out on the pillows is mingling.

"Wakey wakey, lads," Liam says, brushing Louis's shoulder with the back of his hands.

"Already?" Harry groans.

"Yeah," Liam says. "You gonna be okay by yourselves?"

Harry rubs at his eyes, drawing Louis closer. Louis buries his forehead into Harry's clavicle. "Yeah," he says. "You already did the others?"

"Yeah," Liam says.

They're both almost completely awake when he leaves them, so he has hope that they will actually make it out of the bed by the time he comes back, this time.

He wishes he could make it himself, but these days they're reduced to Starbucks tea. Not that it's bad, exactly – it's just definitely not as good as, well, the tea from home. Americans just don't get British tea. Luckily, Liam investigated a little before they got here and he found a little café that does tea which doesn't sound too bad.

It turns out to be kind of perfect, and when Liam leaves he's loaded with no only the stack of paper cups but also two bags of pastries he hadn't planned to buy at all. Oh, well. Wealth is for offering your best friends breakfast before a long day's work, isn't it?

The boys welcome him like a savior, cheering and whooping loudly. Niall even does a little clap thing; Liam blushes a little, and they laugh at him for it. He keeps the tea in retaliation, asks that they all come and get it. He did go outside to get it , before nine and alone, after all.

They form a line almost out of habit. It's all the interviews and panels and everything, but they're just too adorable, standing there with their hands in their backs and their beanies lowered on their ears.

Harry's the first – "Thanks, Liam," he says as he takes his cup from the cardboard tray, and he leans down to peck Liam on the lips. It's ordinary enough for them, as easy and natural as all the playfighting and hugging, but it makes Liam blush anyway. It doesn't take a lot to make Liam blush.

"Cheers, babes," Zayn says, and he kisses Liam as well, brushing a light hand over his forearm. He takes a sip of his tea almost instantly. The wrinkle on his forehead smoothes; he smiles at Liam as if to say he got it right and Liam cocks his head a little, gently reprimanding: _of course I did, don't be silly_.

Louis saunters to him and takes the tea from his hands before he kisses him. "Ta, Liam," he says, his eyes glinting. Liam goes all rosy and pink all over again. Louis chuckles – he never gets tired of teasing him, it's a little discouraging, sometimes. Most of the time, though, it's just fun.

"Thanks mate," Niall says. His kiss is a little more lingering, but it's Niall's laziness. He looks kind of pale, actually, Liam better have someone take a look at him. They don't want one of their members down with something during the tour, and Niall's completely insufferable when he's sick.

Liam rushes after them, ushering them out like a mother hen. 

Louis turns around to give him a small grin. He holds out a hand. Liam takes it, lets himself be pulled into the communal embrace. This is the way they all live, he thinks as he is engulfed by his best friend's open arms: they breathe like that, forehead to forehead, lips to lips. They don't know anything else anymore.

Liam would probably find something wrong with the situation, except for how he really, really can't.


End file.
